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TITLE (EDIT)
My First D |
DESCRIPTION
A short piece.
[959 words] |
AUTHOR
Morgan A Brennan |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
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[December 2004] |
My First D
Morgan A Brennan
We were all in our homeroom classes just waiting for the clock to tick to 2:40, that was when my school ended. I think we were all sort of dreading getting our report cards that day. I was always a great student, I always had 3.5 GPA’s, and “outstanding student” written beside my grade. I was always pretty excited to get my report cards because I knew that I had done well. I always got A’s and B’s. I once got a C, and I felt like I had let myself down because of it, but a C was not bad, so I didn’t beat myself up for it for months. Although, I knew that it was only one C, and a C was still passing. But today…today was different. My homeroom teacher was passing out the white envelopes that contained our anxiously awaited report cards in them. I immediately tore mine open, looking at my grades. A, A, A, B, eh, that’s all right, I mean, I wasn’t looking for a 4.0! But then…then I saw a big, fat, ugly D! I was shocked. I just stood there looking over my report card again, not believing what I was seeing. Yeah, it was definitely a D. I was so mad! I had gotten the D in my Math class, and I knew that my teacher hated me! I knew it, I knew it! I blamed it all on him. Which to this day, still seems like he did have something to do with it. But, it was me. I could have done something to prevent this from happening, but I didn’t. Of course I didn’t think about blaming myself at the moment, I was so frustrated. All my friends came up to me and asked, “What’d ya get, what’d ya get!” I just stood there and let them look at it, they seemed just as shocked as I was. They knew I was a good student. I just wanted out, I just wanted to go and cry. My dad was coming to pick me up that day after school, I was looking forward to that.
The bell finally rang, and the kids were going out into the halls and gathering their things, I got my stuff, and headed out to find my dad. I glided past all my friends, not saying a word. I was embarrassed, even though I knew that my friends had gotten their share of bad grades, I hated knowing that I had let myself down. I finally found my dad’s old, red Ford, and got in. He knew something was wrong. “Uh-ohh, what’s the matter?” He said. My dad was one of those who were funny, caring, and serious at the same time. He was such a great dad. I didn’t say anything but show him my report card. He was reading the list of perfection, “A, A, A, B, that’s alright.” Then he kept reading, “A, A, …D?” He said surprised, but he didn’t seem angry. I said, “It wasn’t my fault dad! It wasn’t! Mr. Hockman HATES me! I’m so sorry!” Then I just started crying right then and there. Both my parents knew how much I cared about my grades, so I knew that they’d understand, but I just didn’t want a D on my report card, even if it didn’t go on my permanent record. My dad understood, he said, “Morgan, I know. I’ll try to make a parent-teacher conference…I know it doesn’t make sense how you got all A’s, a B and a D, it just doesn’t make sense.”
I was so thankful for my dad, he understood, and he didn’t judge me. He helped me get through all of my tears and hate towards my teacher. But, we both knew, that I could have changed my grade if I tried. My dad was always there for me. I loved my dad for what he did. He even tried to make a parent-teacher conference, but surprisingly, my teacher never did call him back. I learned a valuable lesson, always try your best, and try to stop things from happening before it’s too late, and believe it or not…sometimes, not everything is your fault so, make sure that you just keep trying and don’t be mad at yourself for everything. I got through my first D, and I try harder and harder each day to get my grades up. All through 6th and 7th grade, I got a 3.5 or higher GPA, even with a couple C’s and a D, that’s what I am proud of. And I knew my dad was proud of me, no matter what. I am now going into the 8th grade, prepared for any challenges or obstacles that may come, and I know my dad will always be there to dry my tears and help me through these tough teenage years. I love you dad.
Part 2: My First ‘D’
Well, it’s a new year, and guess what? I am an eighth grader who learned a lot from my 7th grade year with Mr. Hockman. Turns out, I have him again for Math. Lucky me, right? So, I showed him this. It’s funny…how much people can change in a year, and how much someone can learn from their first D. I guess I could say that Mr. Hockman taught me another lesson apart from math. He taught me that sometimes…things happen for a reason. Which it did. It happened because I didn’t try and get my grade up. I am no longer angry at my teacher, and I am no longer angry at myself. It’s weird, I’m happy I got that D that day. I learned so much from it. Now…I’m currently upholding a B in Math.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2004 Morgan A Brennan |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
December 2004 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1840
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